Vatican Clan
by Spaztic Arwen
Summary: Van Helsing's latest assignment to destroy a clan of gargoyles ends in massacre because of his new partner's vendetta. Now, he must redeem himself by protecting the child whose clan he helped destroy, and an old friend marked for the kill by the Order.
1. Chapter 1

Van Helsing was less than pleased with his new assignment. He was a solitary hunter; partners just complicated things. But Canmore was the Order's authority on Gargoyles, and the Council of Faiths insisted that the two take the assignment together. It was overkill really, and Canmore made for a poor traveling companion. The man was terse and cold and there was something about him that put Van Helsing ill at ease.

The night was warm at least, and the wind was in their favor. Southern Italy was known for its light climate and beautiful countryside. The rugged hills ahead of them stood out against the sky in the dusky hours. Their horses seemed content to take a leisurely pace. Canmore was not.

"Hurry it up," the Scotsman said; making his impatience known, "We're 'cuttin it close 'tae sunset."

Van Helsing bit back a response. Any fool with eyes could see that the light was fading. But there was only so much a horse could take, even a Transylvanian stallion, and he wanted the animal well rested in case they had to make a hasty retreat.

Canmore made it clear from the beginning that he was about as happy with the partnership as Van Helsing himself. Neither of them had the patience for social niceties. Still, there was something beyond the general resentment of having been saddled with a partner that made him wary of the Scottish hunter. He had no reason to mistrust him; he Canmore family was an ancient house that could trace their lineage back to kings, a line that stood against evil in alliance with the Order for centuries in Scotland, Ireland, and Great Britain.

Eliminating Gargoyles was the house's area of expertise. They were almost solely responsible for the creatures' near extinction. Van Helsing gathered that the Canmore line had some kind of vendetta, something do with an old grudge and a king losing a throne, but he never bothered to ask about it. He had the feeling Canmore wouldn't answer.

The Scotsman did have good reason to want to hurry. Gargoyles turned to stone during the day, giving the two Knights a huge advantage over the beasts. With any luck, they could sneak into the cave, and destroy the creatures before they awoke at sunset. Van Helsing had hunted gargoyles once or twice before, but always found their lairs before they awoke. He had, however followed the trails they left behind when they came to life, and seen the results of their handiwork.

The two approached the hills and dismounted. Van Helsing bent down and scanned the ground for tracks.

"You 'won find any until ye get closer to the beasts' lair," said Canmore. "They're smart enough not 'tae land where their trail can be spotted so easily."

"Oh really?" Van Helsing knelt down, spotting the imprint of a small, three-toed foot in the mud. "Then I suppose this won't do us any good." Canmore knelt down beside him and studied the print.

"Familiarity breeds contempt. We must be closer than I thought."

"The print is small," Van Helsing said, measuring it against his index finger. "Maybe from a hatchling who wandered from the clan?" The Scotsman grunted in reply. "At any rate, it's pointing toward those hills."

The two removed their weapons from the saddlebags. They would have more mobility on foot and sitting on their horses made them easy targets for an aerial attack. Once armed, they made for the hills.

The face of one the tallest hill was steep and too rocky to climb on foot; the perfect place for aerial creatures to make their lair. Without a word, the two removed their grappling guns and shot the streamlined anchors high into the hillside above. Van Helsing removed a set of karabiners from within his jacket and clipped the rope to his belt before handing a spare set to Canmore who grunted his thanks and began the climb. Van Helsing hastily followed suit, passing him. If the Scotsman were to slip, he'd rather something else break his fall.

Van Helsing spotted a shadowy area a few yards to the right with a bit of a ledge underneath. Catching Canmore's eye he gestured towards the spot. Canmore nodded and pulled himself on to the ledge. The two unclipped themselves and carefully edged their way towards the shadows. Sure enough, almost completely hidden from sight, was the mouth of a cave. The two hunters drew their maces, and in unison pressed a button on their hilts that triggered an array of spikes which sprung out with a metallic swish. Canmore raised an eyebrow, but Van Helsing just shrugged, taking Carl's bazaar contraption for granted. The first rays of the sun slipped below the horizon as the two entered the cave.

It was dark; the setting sun cast little light through the entrance. Van Helsing removed a thin glass tube from his pocket. A small switch on its side forced a pick through a thin membrane, allowing the two chemicals it separated to mix. The reaction caused the tube to glow, casting an unearthly green light about the cave. Lighting another, he handed it to Canmore.

The light revealed the cave's occupants: five mature gargoyles, all frozen in fearsome battle poses and looking for the world like a group of grotesque but inanimate statues. There were chips of stone on the floor and the thought crossed Van Helsing that this might be a hoax or some macabre sculptors workshop. He could usually sense both the presence and nature of a being. He could feel Canmore's presence—the standard human mix of good and evil that his Asian mentors referred to as Yin and Yang. Of the five stone creatures, he sensed nothing.

From the inside of his shirt, the Scotsman removed a square of black cloth. He unfolded it reverently and Van Helsing realized that it was a mask.

"An old tradition," Canmore explained before slipping it over his face. Sewn across the front of the mask were three red stripes that resembling claw marks. Van Helsing paid no notice. Most monster hunters were eccentric at best. The rest were absolutely mad. Few sane men entered their line of work. The few who did never stayed that way for long.

Canmore lifted his mace and struck the first stature with a blow that shattered its face. A second took care of the rest of its head and the pieces of it scattered across the cavern floor. Van Helsing raised his weapon, ready to destroy the nearest creature, but something further back caught his eye. It was a gargoyle child, a female. She must have made the footprints they found in the fields earlier. Like the others, she was frozen in a battle stance, but she looked so silly that the affect was lost. In truth, the pose was rather playful, as if the creature-child was playing at imitating her elders.

"Are ye going to help or am I 'tae do this job myself?" Canmore called. Glancing up, Van Helsing realized that all but one of the five adults were already destroyed. Van Helsing hesitated. There was something innocent about the child.

Distracted, Van Helsing did not notice the last traces of sunlight vanish. With a tremendous roar, the two creatures burst from within their stone shells, raining a shower of rock and dust on Canmore. In that heartbeat of a moment, Van Helsing's "hunter's sense" revealed their terrible mistake.

"Canmore, they're not evil!" he shouted, but it was too late. In the brief second it took Van Helsing to register their error, Canmore drew his knife. As Van Hesling shouted for him to stop, he rammed it into the heart of the startled creature. The Gargoyle was too shocked to cry out. He could only stare in disbelief at the knife embedded in his chest. His fingers brushed the red blood that ran from it. Staggering back, he reached forward towards the far corner where the creature-child stared in horror.

"NO!" she cried out, rushing past Van Helsing to the dying Gargoyle's side. Canmore reached out to grab her, but Van Helsing stepped forward and grasped the rogue hunter by the collar of his jacket, slammed him into the cavern wall.

"What have you done?" he shouted, shaking with rage.

Canmore glared at him, struggling angrily. He grasped Van Helsing's neck, choking him. Van Helsing jammed his elbow into the other hunter's throat, collapsing his windpipe. He pulled Canmore forward and slammed him back into the cave wall, knocking him unconscious. The Scotsman's clenched hand released and Van Helsing gasped for air. Behind him he heard soft weeping. He turned to see the little Gargoyle girl next to the dead one, her head pressed against his motionless shoulder. Van Helsing knelt down beside her, wanting to offer her comfort but not knowing how.

Guilt overwhelmed him. How many innocent creatures had he crept up upon and destroyed while they slept. And the child—the knowledge that he nearly destroyed her as well was almost unbearable. Hesitating, he placed his hand on her quivering shoulder. To his surprise, she turned and leaned against him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her frail body to his chest.

"Hush little one," he whispered. "It's alright. No one will harm you."

Van Helsing stood, holding her in his arms, and turned slowly. He carried her out of the cave. What else was there for him to do? The child had nothing else in the world; he couldn't leave her alone now. He would protect her, care for her, and guard her from monsters like himself.

Disclaimer: I don't own Van Helsing, or Gargoyles. I borrowed a race and a vendetta from Buena Vista, but nothing more.

A/N: Yes, Carl invented the glow-stick. Sadly, he still has to wait another hundred years before the first rave.

Ok, so if this chapter seems a bit different to you, I uploaded _another_ draft. I think that makes it my fourth, but such is my anal retentive streak. I reread the last upload and it seemed almost as bad as the original. So my dear reader, because I respect and cherish you, I will give you nothing but the best and purge this story of suckyness with my dying breath.


	2. Chapter 2

Their had been a time shortly after the destruction of Dracula that Enemy had, in what had seemed like a fit of desperation, launched a series of attacks on the Order on its own turf, the Vatican City. While the holy organization and agents had come out victorious, the campaign had taken its toll. The Basilica itself had been attacked but once and the outside world hard remained oblivious to the raging war within. When a humanoid shaped scorch mark appeared upon the steps of the sacred edifice one morning, the naive priests had thought it a miracle of some kin;, never suspecting that it was the remains of a demon general that had been driven out onto the steps and killed there.

The Order it self had not been so lucky. A few slabs of marble were the least of their worries. Its infrastructure had been shattered. Communication between outposts had been cut off. Storehouses holding centuries of records had been left in shambles. They had lost hundreds of non-combatant members as well as field men. The Holly Order would stand, of course. It had suffered worse. But it had been dealt a major blow. It was no wonder, Van Helsing thought as he entered his customary confessional, that someone like Canmore had been able to take advantage of this weakness and use it to destroy an entire race.

There was always the possibility that his superiors _knew_ that the race of Gargoyles was not evil. They had issued orders for him to destroy Frankenstein, despite the creature's innocence. What if they had deemed Gargoyles a threat as well? It would be like them, he thought darkly, to use him as a pawn, to send him out to murder innocents and not tell him. They might have even planned his hunts so that he would arrive at the beasts' lairs during the day, when he could not sense their true natures!

He shook his head, realizing that he was bordering on paranoia. The Order had no reason to go to such great lengths to hide a creature's innocence when it was so much easier to send a more obedient agent to dispatch them.

Still, he feared for the creature-child. He had gone to great lengths to conceal her over the course of his journey. He avoided the roads and traveled only at night, spending the days far from civilization. He had arrived at the holy city moments after dawn and had carried the child's stone form into his apartments. Van Helsing had no intention of revealing her existence until he was certain that she would be protected.

"Bless me father, for I have sinned." His tone was menacing. "I have aided in the murder of innocents and may God help you if you had a hand in it."

"Calm yourself, Gabriel," Cardinal Jinette said from behind the wooden screen that separated confessor from parishioner.

"Calm myself? The blood of five blameless creatures stains my hands."

"Gabriel, what have you done?"

The wall behind them opened and the two entered the passageway it revealed. The door closed behind them.

"What has happened?" There was a sense of urgency in the cardinal's voice, as if he was running the possibilities of what his agent could have done through his mind.

"I have aided in the massacre of innocents."

"The Gargoyles?" Jinnette asked, shock and confusion slipping into his voice. He pressed the leaver that opened the back of the confessional. Van Helsing stood.

"They are not evil. One awoke before Canmore could destroy it. I could sense, even as it died that there was no malice in it."

They entered the armory.

"I must think on this." Jinnette said. "Are you certain?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what happened."

Van Helsing went on to recount the events of the massacre, but making sure to leave out any mention of his little one. He did not notice Carl entering the armory.

"And there were no survivors?"

Van Helsing hesitated, but remained resolute. If keeping this secret from Jinnette was the only way to protect his little one, then he would do it.

"No, Canmore destroyed them all."

Jinnette inhaled deeply.

"I must think this over."

The cardinal's hands shook as he sat down on a nearby chair. For a moment, he rested his head in his hands. Van Helsing was startled. He had never seen the cardinal look so...old. After a moment, Jinnette looked up.

"Leave me, I must think on this." With that Jinnette left. Van Helsing noticed the friar's presence at last.

"Carl" he said urgently, "I need to talk to you. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Do I look like Greg Wiesmen or Steven Summers? I, didn't thinks so!

"You what?" shouted the friar, attracting the stares of several the passers by that shared the streets Vatican City with them.

"Not so loud." Van Helsing urged. He hopped that confiding in Carl would not prove to be a mistake.

"Sorry." Carl lowered his voice to a rather loud whisper. "Then why did you tell Jinnette that..."

"I lied. One did survive. I said that none had only to protect her."

Carl glared at him with mock understanding

"Oh, so it's a _her_, is it, that explains everything!"

Van Helsing grew defensive.

"It's not like that. She's only a child. She needed me Carl." He began walking faster. It was nearly sunset and he needed to get back to his quarters before his little one awoke. Once, while they were still on the road, he had left the camp at dusk to gather firewood and returned to find her in a desperate panic.

"I thought something happened to you." She had whispered between sobs. On the rare occasions that she spoke, her voice was always hushed and timid. "I thought maybe _he_ had…"

"No, I'm fine. I left for a moment, but I—I won't let you wake up alone again."

"Promise?" she had asked. Looking down at her, Van Helsing realized that she would have believed him if he swore to fetch her the moon.

"I promise."

"Van Helsing, wait!" Carl's voice dragged him back to the present. He stopped and allowed the friar to catch up.

"She's lost everything she had in this world, her home, her family…it's all gone. And I'm the reason for it. I rode into her home with Canmore. I found her trail, pointed out the hill." He had to make him understand. "And the worst part is that despite all of this, I'm all she has. She needs me, Carl."

And Carl, for his part, did try to understand. This was not some merciful whim, but a painful burden. The child must be a constant reminder of Van Helsing's crimes, but he was determined to care for her in spite of his pain. The monster hunter had always been a glutton for punishment.

"All right." he sighed, raising his hands in surrender. "I'll help you. But if that thing bites me, I swear . . . "

Van Helsing shook his head, and smiled a little. The two continued towards his apartments.

"She won't bite you Carl."

"Are you sure?" the friar asked\. "Maybe I should stop at the armory and get some padding . . . just in case."

"Carl." Van Helsing warned.

"What? It never hurts to be prepared."

"Carl."

"Alright, but I'm holding you accountable for any bodily injury"

"Carl!"

"Oh fine!"

A/N : Mucho gracias a Almu para los hechos en el Iglesia Catolica. !Tu ingles es muy bien!. If you hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known that English wasn't your first language. If it would be easer for you to review in Spanish, you could. I took it as a second language in school & would probably be able to understand you. I wish my Spanish was as good as your English!

The chapter title "Revelations" has nothing to do with the book in the bible and everything to do w/ an ep of Gargoyles. Matt Bluestone ultimate "good cop".


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ! ALL WILL LOVE ME AND PER…ops, that's Galadriel…ahem I AM THE GREAT AND POWERFUL OZ! curtain is attacked by Bronx, the garg-dog, IGNORE THE GIRL BEHIND THE CURTAIN IGNORE THE… aww, forget it! I own nothing

With a roar-like yawn, the little one awoke from her stone sleep; shards of stone shattering off of her body and on to the blanket Gabriel had placed under her to catch them. She looked up to see her friend, and another man, watching her.

Van Helsing couldn't help but smile. His little one always awoke with the odd combination of a roar and a yawn. Carl jumped back as she did, and backpedaled quickly as she ran forward, spreading her thin wings as she and wrapping her tiny arms around Van Helsing's legs.

"Little one," he said. "I'd like you to meet my friend, Carl."

She smiled shyly at the friar and Carl smiled back. Despite Van Helsing's assurances, he had been expecting a monster rather than this frightened little angel.

"It is a pleasure to meet you." He said, and reached out his hand. She shook it timidly. "What is your name?"

"Gargoyles don't need names." She said softly, as if afraid of her own voice.

"She told me that too." Van Helsing explained. "I've just been calling her "little one" or pet names. It seems to be what their kind does."

"Doesn't that get confusing?"

The child only shrugged and reached up for Van Helsing to lift her. He obliged, scooping her up and holding her up high above his head. Carl could hardly believe what he was seeing; the brooding, dark, tragic Gabriel Van Helsing spinning around with a little creature in his arms.

"Shall we have breakfast?" he asked her, and carried her to the kitchen when she nodded. He sat her down on the counter and began rifling through his cabinets for a frying pan. He set it down on the stove and pulled a box of eggs out of a small icebox. The gargoyle pointed at the eggs and then at herself, smiling shyly.

"Of course you can help." Van Helsing handed her an egg and lifted the pan so that she could crack it on the side. She tapped it once and beamed proudly as it hit the pan. The second egg did not crack so well, but he was able to pick most of the shell out. Van Helsing cracked the final egg himself and set the pan on the stove. After a few minutes, he flipped them onto a plate and set them at the table. The gargoyle leapt off of the counter and sat herself at the table.

"Sunny side up, just the way you like them." He declared, setting down a glass of milk, a napkin, and utensils. She lifted the fork carefully, not accustomed to using it, but recognizing its purpose. Glancing first at Van Helsing to make sure that she was doing it right, she cut into the egg with the side of her fork and began eating.

Promising to be back soon, Van Helsing and Carl excused themselves to the next room.

"So," the friar began, still thoroughly amused by the scene in the kitchen. "What do you need my help for?"

"Well," Van Helsing lowered his voice. "For one thing, I know nothing about raising a gargoyle."

"Well I could name seven ways to kill a gargoyle but I know absolutely nothing about taking care of one."

"Quiet!" He glanced back into the kitchen, but his little one had not looked up from her eggs. "You have access to the Order's records, you could find out. Besides, there is something else I need you for."

Carl sighed.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like this?"

"You and I both know that I could be called away on assignment at any moment. My missions are too dangerous to take a child on and…"

"…you want me to look after her while you're gone. Van Helsing, I hate to break it too you but you're not the only member of the Order who has duties. My hours are not what you'd call regular. I just couldn't be responsible for her."

"You're right." he said, his shoulders sagging.

"Besides" Carl said lamely. "I don't think you would want her running around my laboratory with all of those explosives and sharp objects about."

Van Helsing knew it was hopeless. He could not take his little one with him, and he could not leave her here. Maybe he should have just told Jinnette the truth. But how could he? The cardinal had been vague on the matter. He said that he would think about what Van Helsing had said, but that could mean nothing at all. No, he could not trust the child's safety to the Order.

"I'll help you research at least." Carl added. Suddenly he sat up; a look of excitement spread across his face. "Of course, why didn't I think of her before?"

"Who?" Van Helsing asked, but the friar was not paying attention.

"If anyone would know, it would be her! And I bet she would be willing to watch her when…"

"Carl!" The friar looked up as if he had forgotten that Van Helsing was still in the room. "Who, in the name of all that is good and holy are you talking about?"

"A friend of mine. She's sort of an amateur expert if you will, on the subject of Gargoyles. If anyone could help us, it would be Stella. She's developed a bit of a mania on the subject. Something to do with a missing records and a conspiracy."

An image occurred to Van Helsing, a female Carl, shuffling around dusty tomes with a fevered absentmindedness. It was not a very comforting thought, but he was running out of options.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: It's all property of Weisman, Summers, and their respective studios.

A/N: I wonder if anyone appreciates how hard it is to write about a character with no name. Thank goodness she gets one in this chapter, but tell me how I did with it up until now.

It was late when Stella Delliceneri set down a pile of field reports on her desk and began to skim through them, taking notes as she did. The Order had promoted her to temporary head of processing in a hasty shift of positions after the previous winter's attacks. There had been a small outcry amongst some members of the Council of Faiths at the promotion of a woman to a position of power, but the fact that she was the only member of the department that was not dead or in hiding seemed to be the deciding factor.

Under ordinary circumstances, the position was one of prestige. The head processor was normally one of the highest ranking advisors. But the Council had thus far found better use for Stella as their personal secretary and librarian. Stella spent far too much time running their errands and doing their research that she had barely begun taking stock of the ransacked libraries. She had no idea what had been stolen in the attacks five months ago. She had no idea what to look for in the first place.

There was a knock on the door, not the front door of the library in which she lived and worked, but the back door, the one used by members of the Order. She groaned at the thought of an interruption but got up and walked down the hallway to the door, opening it.

"Ciao, Carl…" she said, recognizing her friend. She trailed off when she realized that the friar was not alone. Standing behind him was a man in a trench coat whom she immediately recognized as the legendary Gabriel Van Helsing, caring a small child; at least it looked like a child, covered in a cloak and hood.

"What in the …"

Carl cut her off.

"It would be better if we discussed this inside."

She nodded and stepped back into the building, the friar and monster hunter following close behind. She led them up a flight of stairs and into her private study, closing the door behind them.

Van Helsing took the opportunity to study her. She was not, thankfully, the feminine carbon copy of Carl that he had imagined. She was a young woman of average build with dark hair pulled into a simple and efficient bun. Efficiency seemed to be the code by which she lived. Her pace was swift, her movements deliberate. There seemed to be nothing absentminded about this Stella.

The study itself was tidy, organized. A place for everything and everything in it's place. Still, it was a comfortable room. The upholstered furniture in front of the unlit hearth gave him the distinct impression that it was a place for hospitality as well as study. A small child could easily curl up on the couch with a picture book or a toy. This was, he realized, very important. He could not leave his little one in a place that was not suited for children.

"Could someone please explain to me what is going on?" Stella asked. Her Italian accent thickened as it always did under pressure.

Van Helsing stepped forward.

"I'm Gabriel Van Helsing…" he began, but Stella waved him off. She had written enough reports to know him by both face and reputation. He was known to kill first and leave others to sort out details from the corpse; a processor's worst nightmare.

"I know who you are, but what are you doing in my library and who is the child?"

Van Helsing opened his mouth to explain, but Carl interrupted, using Stella's question as an opening.

"Well, I know how you've been working on that study in your spare time…?"

"The whole Order knows."

Since gaining the position of chief processor, Stella had been given access to every document in the Order's possession. She had found many to be fascinating and others to be more frightening than anything she had ever imagined. One day, she stumbled upon a strange report. It documented a hunt that had taken place over fifty years ago. An agent had been killed, but the circumstances under which it had happened were vague. The report had been missing many key elements. Whole pages seemed to have been lost.

From the report, she did manage to learn that two hunters had gone after a clan of gargoyles in Germany. Only one had come back. The surviving hunter's name seemed to have been excluded from the report. She spent quite a bit of free time—although she did not exactly have much of it to spend—trying to find out who he was, but the records were suspiciously mute on the subject.

She then began to research Gargoyles in general, hoping that something would turn up. Stella found little of use, wild legends and incomplete reports. Much to her dismay, the Order had ignored her findings, and her continued persistence led to public humiliation.

"Stella, you and I have known each other for a long time, haven't we?" Carl asked. He had always been, if not genuinely supportive of her research, very good at pretending and usually willing to listen to her tell of a new discovery.

"Since I came here from the nunnery, why?"

"And you would say that there is a trust between us, wouldn't you?"

"Who is that concealed under the robes?" she asked, suddenly afraid. Two small, yellow arms, poked out from beneath the cloak. The creature pulled back the hood, revealing a small yellow gargoyle with pale silver hair and pink freckles. Van Helsing placed the child on the ground. Stella gasped in surprise, but not terror. The child clutched the monster hunter's coat with one hand, and looked up at her with wide eyes. Stella aimed a questioning glance at the friar.

"Is this a…?"

"…yes, a young one."

Stella knelt down and reached a hand out to the creature child.

"Ciao quella piccola, non è impaurito_."_ she said softly, unconsciously reverting to her native tongue.

The child smiled at the familiar words. Several of her clan's elders had spoken only Italian, and hearing the language once more comforted her. She released her guardian's coat and stepped forward, taking Stella's outstretched hand.

"Do you have a name, little one?" Stella asked.

The little one shook her head.

"Gargoyles don't have names." she said, repeating the explanation.

Stella felt a thrill of excitement. After months of fruitless research, she was at last getting facts directly from the source—granted that source was very young and, Stella had to admit, very adorable. Still, human instinct told her that the creature should, like each of God's creations, have a name.

"May I call you Bella? It is a fitting name for one so lovely, little one."

The newly christened Bella smiled and nodded, then stepped back, taking the hand of her protector once more.

"Where did you find her?" Stella asked, standing once more.

"On my last assignment." Van Helsing answered. He glanced from Bella to Carl. The friar took the hint.

"Um, Stella, would you mind if I showed her around the library?"

Stella gave him a confused look, but consented.

"Come on, _Bella_" whispered Carl. "I'll show you where the stingy lady keeps her _good_ books."

"I herd that!" she called. "Don't you dare think of pilfering my personal library!"

The librarian and the monster hunter sat down, and Van Helsing recounted the destruction of the Italian Clan.

"And she does not know that you were involved?" she asked when he concluded.

Van Helsing shook his head.

"Part of me wants to tell her, but I haven't the heart to do it."

Stella nodded.

"I believe it is better that way. Your little one needs a friend and guardian, not someone to blame. And, I do not think that you are even to blame. You had no way of knowing her kind was not evil. No one here would believe you." She said darkly. "From what you have told me, you hesitated to shatter them when you saw her and it was Canmore who actually destroyed them, not you. You did not ever raise your weapon against her clan."

"Then why do I feel so responsible?"

At that moment, Carl and little Bella reentered the room. She released the friar's hand and raced into her guardian's arms. Carl fought a loosing battle to hold back fits of laughter.

"I'll help you find the information you need." said Stella, quickly changing the subject. "But what will you do with Bella when you are called on assignment?"

Hearing her name, the gargoyle looked up at him, confused. Van Helsing gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. In the meantime, it's almost dawn and I should probably get her home before she turns to stone."

Stella nodded and walked them to the door.

_"Arrivederci quella piccolo."_ She said quietly, as they disappeared into the twilight.

A/N- I officially love Babelfish!!! Best translator site there is! The first bit translates to "Hello, little one, do not be afraid," and the second, "Goodbye little one." Thanks to those who have reviewed. It gave me an ego boost & I needed that.

Reviews Love.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: In memory of Grammy, who got me to eat my vegetables by promising me that they would make me "big and strong and beautiful."

Van Helsing had put off telling Bella about his assignments for as long as possible. Each evening he would return to his flat at sunset, berating himself for having delayed so long; but by the time she awoke and wrapped her little arms and thin wings around him, the matter seemed much less urgent. Now, two weeks after his retun, he was left with no choice. The Cardinal informed him that he would be leaving for his next assignment in only two days.

At least Stella had agreed to look after her. The arrangement was more than he could have hoped for. There was a secret room where Bella could be hidden during the day when she returned to her stone form. At night, the young gargoyle would have the run of Stella's flat above the library. She had assured him that her work for the Order kept her up for most of the night already, so it would be a no trouble at all to watch the child.

While her research had yielded little about the care of an adolescent Gargoyle, Stella seemed to know quite a bit about looking after children.

"I have a big family," she had explained, "and more cousins, nieces and nephews than you can count. They are the best teachers, I've found."

It had been years since Stella had need for nonsense rhymes and lullabies, but she could recall them with as much precision as she could facts and reports. When Van Helsing brought Bella to visit, she would put away her work with swift efficiency before nonsense free nature dissolved as soon as the child entered the room. When Bella was around, there seemed to be more time for games and tomfoolery.

Van Helsing observed the two carefully during this time, not only to make sure that Stella was fit to look after his little one, but also to learn from her. He began to make mental notes of what foods a child needed to become "big and strong and beautiful" (something Stella would say when coaxing Bella to eat her greens). He learned that soft blankets had mysterious comforting powers, and that plush dollies made excellent companions. Once, he noticed Carl staring at him and realized that without knowing it, he had been humming one of Bella's favorite lullabies.

And to his delight, Bella was slowly coming out of her shell. She spoke more often, and her voice gained confidence with each passing night. According to Stella's research, Gargoyles were a sentient race, and held the same capacity for speech as humans. Bella's quietness, she believed—and he agreed with her—was the result of the trauma she had endured, witnessing the violent massacre of her clan. But the child seemed to possess a miraculous resilience. Her smiles grew stronger, and sometimes, he could even coax a sweet but rare giggle from her. He only hoped that she was strong enough to cope when he left.

He put a lot of thought into how he would explain his having to leave. That evening, under the cover of darkness, the two had climbed onto Van Helsing's horse, the steadfast Transylvanian stallion, and rode into the Roman countryside. There was a secluded meadow, an old field lying fallow, which was hidden by trees only a few miles outside of the city limits. They had visited it several times already. It was a place where Bella could stretch her legs, breath fresh air and see the sky.

"That's the Mentor, right?" he asked. They were lying on their backs in the tall grass, and Bella had been teaching him the Gargoyle names of constellations.

"Right." Her voice held a confidence he would not have believed possible weeks before. "And that one is…"

"The Fat One!" they said in unison, their laughter filling the warm night air.

"And there's the cave he got stuck in!" she pointed to another cluster of stars.

"I think you're making these up."

"Uh-uh. He snuck into the cave and ate all the food his clan had stored for winter. And by the time he was done, he was so big that he got stuck! Don't you know the story?"

Van Helsing shook his head.

"I'm afraid I don't know too many stories."

Bella rolled over and stared at him in disbelief.

"Everyone knows stories."

"Not me. I can't think of a single one."

"Try." she urged, as if he had just told her that he couldn't tie his shoes. "You just…think of something and tell about it. It's easy."

Van Helsing racked his brain. He knew a fairy tale or two, but only because he had found himself faced to face with the monsters in them. The legends he knew were far too frightening, and almost all true. Every story he knew was too full of darkness and fear. He tried to think of a moment in his life before Bella had entered it that was not tainted with evil. Only one thing came to mind, a person really, and he knew what story he wanted to tell.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess. The princess had no castle, no throne, no royal clothes or fine jewels. All that she held dear had been taken from her by an evil man long ago."

"What was her name?" Bella asked.

"Anna," he said fondly. "Her name was Anna. She was beautiful, with long, raven hair and eyes…" he struggled to remember their color but found that he could not recall, "Well, they were the most striking eyes in the kingdom, and if you looked into them, you could see exactly what she was thinking, especially," he smiled, "especially when she was angry with you."

And Van Helsing found himself telling their story; not how it had happened, but how it should have been. A humble Knight, and his companion, on a quest to rid the world of evil, journeyed to her kingdom and saved the princess.

"She didn't want their help at first. Anna was brave and proud, not some silly thing who spent her days trying on frilly gowns or jewelry. Not when her kingdom was in danger. She was…" he searched for the right word.

"A warrior." Bella put in. The word fit, and Van Helsing ruffled her hair.

"Yes, a warrior. It was her job, as princess, to rid the land of evil, and she could do it herself, thank you very much." He punctuated each syllable of the last phrase by tapping Bella's nose.

"Did the knight get to help her?"

"Yes. He proved that he could be just as stubborn as she and refused to leave until she let him help."

He went on, telling her about how the princess had lost her family, even her brother. Bella grew sad at this part and he hurried ahead.

"How big was he?" she asked, when he reached Frankenstein's part in their story.

"The biggest man that has ever lived. He was so big, that people were afraid of him so he lived all by himself."

"All alone? That's so sad."

"Yes. He just wanted a friend."

"Were Anna and the knight scared of him?"

"At first. You see, there was a big mix up. The giant thought that they were attacking him, and Anna and the knight thought that _he_ was attacking _them_."

"That's silly. "

"Very silly. But soon, they realized that they were all on the same side."

"What about the knight's friend?" she interrupted again. "Was he scared?"

"Oh yes, he was very scared. He screamed and whined and complained for days when he found out that the giant would join them." Bella giggled at the slightly exaggerated—though not by much—description of Carl's first encounter with Frankenstein.

"The giant explained that he had been hiding from the Evil Count." Here, he paused, struggling for a way to explain of Dracula's plans for Frankenstein. The truth was too horrific for a small child to understand. "The Count thought that…that because the giant _looked_ mean and scary, he ought to _be _mean and scary. He wanted the giant to join him and help him destroy the kingdom."

"And did he?"

"No, the giant refused. No matter what the Count did to him, no matter how much he begged and pleaded and threatened, he refused to become evil. Instead, he joined the princess and helped her and the knight."

"And the knight's friend." She reminded him. Carl could not be forgotten.

"And the knight's friend." Van Helsing went on to describe Anna's capture, the ball, Frankenstein's imprisonment and rescue, and at last, the defeat of the "Evil Count."

"And then, the knight swept the princess up onto his horse, and the four of them rode off to the sea. The princess once told the night that if ever her kingdom had been rid of evil, if ever her job was done and she could rest; then she would like to visit the sea. And that is what they did. And," Unfamiliar though he was with children's stories, Van Helsing did at least know how the good ones ended. "They lived happily ever after."

"The end!" Bella chimed in. "See, I told you that you knew how to tell stories. That was even better than the ones Stella tells me."

But Van Helsing was lost in thought. The story had reminded him of why they had ridden out to the field in the first place.

"Bella," he began. "Do you remember the knight's quest?"

"He wanted to 'get rid' the world of evil." she answered, trying hard to remember his exact words.

"Yes. Well…I'm also on a quest to get rid of evil. I work for the Holy Order. They send me places so that I can fight the monsters and evil things there."

"Like the knight in the story?"

"Yes, very much like the knight. And sometimes, the places they send me are very far. Sometimes, I am gone for months at a time."

"Oh." she said, clearly puzzled by what this meant for her. "Do Carl and Stella go with you?"

"Carl does sometimes, but Stella stays here. They work for the Order too, but they have different jobs."

"That's too bad. I'll miss Stella when we go."

Van Helsing winced and sat up slowly. He had faced vampires, demons, monsters, the agents of Hell itself; but all of that seemed simple when compared with having to tell Bella that she could not come with him.

"You like Stella a lot, don't you?" Bella nodded and Van Helsing pulled her into his lap. She looked up at him with adoration and he felt his heart break. "How would you like to stay with her for a little while?"

"Would you stay too?"

He shook his head sadly.

"No Bella, I'm afraid I can't."

"Then I don't think I want to." Her voice wavered and grew soft. He lifted her and stood her up, but remained kneeling so that he was at eye level with her. Taking her hands in his, he braced himself.

"You are such a brave girl, Bella. Every day, I look at you and I say 'Look how strong my little one is. Look how she faces each new night with a smile.'" He chucked her under the chin gently, but the smile he spoke of would not come. "I need you to be brave for me, Bella. I cannot take you with me when I go on assignment."

"But you promised that you'd never leave me alone. You promised." She whispered. A tear fell from her eye, the leader of a silent parade.

"You won't be alone, little one. Stella and Carl will be here to take care of you."

"I want you. I want you to take care of me, Gabriel."

"I know, little one, I know." He let go of her hand and held out his arms. She accepted his embrace and Van Helsing felt her wet tears on his chest. "It will only be for a little while. I'm going to Spain. Spain isn't so far. Look, Stella has a map in her library. I can show you right where it is. It isn't far at all."

She held on to him tighter, her frail body shaking with little sobs.

"You're so brave, little one. A bundle of courage, that's what you are. You're like…like the princess in the story, Princess Anna. She was brave for her kingdom, wasn't she?" he felt Bella nod. "Can you be brave for me like she was?"

"I don't know." she sobbed. "Not when you're gone."

"I won't be gone for long, I promise." It was a lie, he knew. He had no control over how long an assignment would last. It could be months before he could return. He could be killed in battle and never come home. But he could not think of that. He had survived all these years on his own; he certainly could not die now that he had found someone to live for. He sent up a silent prayer—the first he had prayed in a long time, that he would return to Bella safe, and soon.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: This chapter is probably one of the more dramatically altered. Originally, it was a bunch of Bella/Stella funfriendshipfluffiness. As adorable as the fluff was, it had to be cut back to make room for something new, **an actual plot!** Three years from the story's start I have learned how to write something with plot. Hopefully anyway. I left some of the fluff intact because it enforces an important part of Gargoyle biology and allows the reader (I hope) to get to know some of the characters a little better. But I get it out of the way very quickly.

On that note: The plot thickens!

…

Bella did try her best to be brave. It was difficult at first; she spent the beginning and end of those first nights in tears. But each evening, she wept a little less, and finally not at all. Stella was no Gabriel, but she did know lots of fun things; like how to make cookies and sew dollies and play hide and seek in the maze of bookshelves that covered the first three floors, and two hidden sublevels of the library.

Stella would be waiting in the secret passageway every evening when Bella awoke. They would cook breakfast together; or sometimes dinner. Bella was not picky about the order of her meals. Then they would settle down in the study, the gargoyle with a toy or a book and Stella with the night's work. Stella would tell her stories, or play word games while she filled out reports; or the two would talk. More often than prudence should have allowed, Stella would find herself abandoning her papers in favor of games of chase or tickle fights or to spend extra time brushing Bella's silvery hair.

"Stella, what is the sun like?" The little Gargoyle asked one night after they had settled down for the evening.

"Well," she hesitated. How did one describe the sun? Stella realized that she had never tried before. She had never known anyone who had never experienced the daytime before. Even the blind knew at least what the sun felt like. But Bella turned to stone during the day, always the moment before the sun rose above the horizon.

"Well, it's big and slivery, the color of your hair, only brighter." She grasped for a description. "Imagine the light of a thousand lanterns, together in one globe."

"Wouldn't that hurt your eyes?"

"Only if you stare at it for too long." Stella said, "But you can look away. It's…like the moon I suppose, but so much brighter. And during the day, you can see everything much more clearly. Colors are richer, lighter; you can see each detail." Bella had asked what the sun was like, she reminded herself; not just how it looked.

"It is warm; or rather it makes the air warm. Or, even when the air is cold, you feel warm because of all of the light. Does that make any sense?"

"I think so." Bella cocked her head to the side, clearly mulling things over. "I've always wondered, but" her voice lowered. "I never had anyone to ask."

It was the first time Bella had spoken of life before the massacre. Stella had come to know the signs that came before one of Bella's sad, silent spells. She stood, setting aside her work and scooped the Gargoyle up in her arms. She was so marvelously light. Stella supposed that she would have to be in order to glide on her thin wings. Bella wrapped those wings and her arms around Stella and rested her head on the processor's shoulder.

"Hush, little beautiful." She waited for sobs, but was relieved when Bella only yawned and nestled her head into the crook of Stella's neck. "It's almost sunrise, is it not?" Bella nodded. "We should get you to your hiding place."

Stella had done her best to make the passageway homey. She hung quilts to cover the dank stone walls. There was a plain metal bed in the corner—the secret room had been intended for hiding agents and people who had clamed sanctuary from the Order. It was Spartan, but Bella did not seem to mind. Stella supposed that it might remind her of home. Gargoyles were known to live in caves.

Bella yawned again as Stella set her down. She stretched and bared her teeth, attempting a battle pose.

"Do I look like a warrior?" she asked, trying to keep her mouth in a ridged snarl and speak at the same time.

"You're frightening me, you're so fierce looking!" Stella teased. Bella's scowl dissolved into a proud grin, and froze that way as the sun set outside.

"_Buona notte, Bella_." Stella said, closing the passageway. "Or rather, _buona mattina,_' good morning."

Stella was exhausted, but she hours of work ahead of her before she could even think about resting. She was beginning to envy Bella, who slipped into stone sleep whether she wanted to or not. She did not have to stay up until all hours running errands for pompous clergymen. No sooner had Stella picked up her pen did she hear the back doorbell ring.

"'There is no rest for the wicked'." Stella grumbled, gazing skyward. "Did I do something to deserve this? I'm coming!" she shouted when the bell rang again. God forbid it occur to someone that she might be sleeping at four in the morning.

But her complaints faded when she opened the door, replaced by fear and alarm. She knew her visitor's face, had seen it in the Order's files.

"I'm lookin` fer the Processor." He said without introduction. His accent confirmed Stella's fears.

"I am she. How can I be of service, Signore Canmore?"

"A woman? Things must be a damned sight worse here than I've heard."

"We manage." she said coolly. Stella positioned herself so that she blocked the door. She found herself studying Canmore with a hateful fascination. Since coming to Rome, Stella had seen murderers, monsters, and madmen. Stella knew Canmore to be the first of the three traits, and a moment's observation told her that it was not likely the only one.

"I'm sure. I need to see some documents."

"Do you have clearance?"

Canmore's expression darkened.

"My family has always been allowed access to the Order's records."

"Times have changed, Mister Canmore. Security has been increased since the attacks last winter."

"I don't see any security. I see a frail spinster woman blocking my way." he growled, eyeing her bare left hand. Canmore drew himself up to his full height and leaned forward. Though Stella was not short by any means, the Scottish knight towered over her. "I see you don't know who yur dealing with, spinster lass. I'm thinking I may have to teach you better."

"I know exactly who I am dealing with, _Mr._ Canmore." She emphasized the address. "You may be the son of kings at home, but here, you are just another agent, If you have a request, you can take it up with the Cardinal."

"I may just do that." he said threateningly. He turned his back on her and headed out of the alleyway. "Mark my words, spinster, I will have those records."

Stella realized suddenly that she had been clutching the doorframe for support. Despite her brave words, she was terrified. She closed the door and bolted all of the locks. Leaning against the wall, she suddenly felt exhausted. What ever work she had planned on doing would have to wait. She doubted that her hand would stop shaking enough to allow her to grip a pen. No, the Council of Faiths could wait another a little longer. Stella could do nothing more that day but curl up in bed and sleep like a stone.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Stella is my not-so-hideous progeny. Bella is mostly mine. Buena Vista still has dibs on her species.

A month had come and gone too slowly and Van Helsing had never been so eager to see the Roman skyline. The sides of his horse were drenched in the sweat of a hard day's ride, but it showed no sign of tiring. He thanked Anna silently for the stallion, his one memento of the Transylvanian over a year ago. The horse was eager to run; finally free of the tight cargo hold in which it had spent the journey home—almost as eager as Van Helsing was to reach the Vatican City, and to see his little one once more.

At last, they reached the city limits but even then, they did not slow. Monks and pilgrims scattered, diving out of their way. Merchants hawking rosaries and prayer books ducked behind their carts, shouting words that the saints on their prayer cards would surely disapprove of.

Racing past the stables, Van Helsing went straight to the library. He dismounted in the alleyway before his horse could come to a halt and tied its reins to a drainpipe. He did at least undo horse's saddle and removed some oats from his saddlebags so that he could eat. The rain barrel beneath the pipe was full and the stallion drank heavily from it.

The door behind him opened and a yellow blur shot out from behind it, throwing its arms around his legs. Van Helsing stumbled back but caught his balance and lifted the tiny assailant into his arms.

"I missed you so much," Bella declared, nuzzling against him. He kissed her forehead and she giggled as his whiskery cheek rubbed against hers.

"And I missed you. Were you brave?"

"She was very brave," Stella appeared in the doorway. "Come in, come in," she beckoned.

The flat was a nice relief from the hot air. They made themselves comfortable in the kitchen and Stella offered him ice tea from a pitcher. Bella declared that she had made it herself, with the librarian's help, before hopping down from his arms and racing into the study. When she returned, she was holding long piece of paper.

"Look what I did!" She held it up for him. The drawing was crude, but Van Helsing could recognize Stella by her black hair and Carl by the scribbled brown robe. Bella had drawn herself as well, using a yellow crayon, and Van Helsing too, hat and all.

"You gave me wings," he noticed, a bit puzzled but not displeased. Bella shrugged and wriggled under the paper and into his lap. "It's very good." She beamed at his praise.

"She's been waiting all week to show…" but Stella was interrupted by a knock on the door. Answering it, she found a very harried Carl.

"What is it?" Van Helsing asked from the top of the stairs. Hearing the friar's voice, Bella peeked out from behind him and waved.

"They've captured him," he said breathlessly, "Ten miles outside of the city, at least that's where they're keeping him. I didn't know what to do, I mean, I couldn't just storm the place and…but now that you're back…"

"Hold on Carl," Van Helsing hurried down the stairs. "Who did they capture? What are you…?"

"Frankenstein… I don't know what he's—" suddenly, Carl remembered that they were not alone. He lowered his voice and the two began to whisper animatedly. Van Helsing grew serious, then angry.

"What's wrong?" Stella asked. Van Helsing struggled to regain his composure.

"I may need to leave Bella here another night."

Bella let out a cry of protest, and clambered down the stairs

"Just for a few hours. I'll be back before dawn, I promise." He turned back to Stella. "If that's alright. I wouldn't ask it of you unless I had no other choice."

"It's fine. She's always welcome here. But—" Van Helsing cut her off.

"Thank you, I have to leave now." He beckoned Bella over and reluctantly she came.

"Just a few hours?" she asked. She took his hand and refused to let go until she extracted this promise from him. Gabriel always kept his word.

"Yes. I'll come back and take you home before the sun sets, and you can tell me everything that's happened while I was away." It was good enough and she let him released him.

… … …

Outside, Van Helsing pressed Carl for more information.

"Do you know where you're keeping him?"

"From what I've heard they've converted an old barn into a prison. It's just off the road. They're planning on using him in some sort of side show. That's how we learned of it. They've been advertising, calling him 'The Demon.'"

"Those fools! They wouldn't last a minute against a real demon. And the Order is allowing this?"

Carl shook his head.

"They're sending an agent to destroy him tonight."

"We have to do something," Van Helsing said angrily. "Maybe I can get myself assigned to it. Stella could pull some strings…" but Carl shook his head.

"Stella has no influence here. Besides, they've already assigned someone, and Van Helsing, it's Canmore."

His blood ran cold. Canmore was here in Rome. Did he know about Bella? Had he hunted her here, all this way? And if he was still being assigned cases, the Order was doing nothing about the murders. The Council of Faiths knew that Canmore had killed innocent creatures in cold blood, and ignored it.

"How long has he been here?"

"About two weeks. He's been harassing Stella about these records—"

Van Helsing cursed and whirled about, slamming his fist against the side of a building. Carl flinched and bits of plaster flaked off the wall.

"He doesn't know about Bella, at least not that she's here anyway," he said reassuringly. "Stella's held him off so far, but I don't know how long she can keep it up. He's made an appeal before the Council of Faiths."

"Do you think they'll back him?" Van Helsing knew little about the Orders bureaucracy, only that they insisted on working their agents to death.

"I don't know. But what should we do about Frankenstein?"

Van Helsing had not seen or heard from the creature since Transylvania. They had parted on good terms, each having saved the other's life at least once. Friendship was a rare thing for Van Helsing; he and Frankenstein had that in common. The most wanted man in Europe got few dinner invites. He was not about to let one of the few friends he had hang.

"Do you know where they're keeping him?"

"In a barn ten miles west of the city. It's close to the roads."

Van Helsing checked his pockets for weapons. It was almost ten now. There was no time for planning. He'd just have to cross himself and hope that he didn't get caught.

A new dilemma occurred to him. In the past, when he had taken risks, there had been no one to worry about but himself. Now, if something happened to him, who would take care of Bella? What would become of his little one?

"Carl, I want you to keep Stella out of this."

The friar was puzzled.

"Van Helsing, we can trust her. I've known her for years; she'd never—"

"You're probably right," Van Helsing admitted, "But if I'm caught tonight, I need to know that someone will be able to look after Bella for me."

"Don't talk like that…I mean, surely the Council wouldn't do anything to you, would they?"

Van Helsing shook his head, but was not entirely convinced.

"The Left Hand of God is too valuable," he said sarcastically, "But there may be…an inquiry or something. I don't know. But all the same,"

"I understand. I—I'll try and keep quiet about it." Carl kept could hold his tongue like a fish could breath air. Still, the chances of Stella being connected to the rescue were slim. There was no reason for her to be involved.

A/N: For some reason, this chapter took so much work and effort. I have no idea why, but I ended up going through at least two drafts, not including the original, before getting this final product. I think a lot of the upcoming chapters will be like that, now that we're about to get into the thick of things.


	9. Chapter 9

"Beppe, see to those horses!" Fabian ordered. "They're making me nervous."

Beppe wondered at the fact that the horses were all that made the stable master uneasy. Even from the paddock, he could hear the demonic creature's terrible roars and the crack of the whip as they beat him down.

"Easy girls," he soothed the mares. They stamped and pawed nervously, but the youth's presence calmed them some. Beppe had fed and brushed them since infancy delivered their foals. He was part of the herd.

"I wish they'd just leave him be," he thought aloud. "Maybe then he wouldn't shout so."

"Don't be a fool, boy. That _bestia_ broke out twice already. The men have to wear him down. We'll all be safe once he's good and broken."

Beppe had been there day Marcello and his band dragged the monster into the village. Fabian complained when they converted his barn into a prison for the beast, but Beppe had been honored. He rushed about, gathering what the men needed: chains, torches, and food, glad to do them any service. They slipped him a coin, promising him that they would all be rich before long.

Now, they hardly noticed him, and Beppe was secretly glad. He'd gotten his fill of the monster after the first few days, and the brutality of Marcello and his men sickened him more than the creature's grotesque appearance.

A storm rumbled off in the distance and Beppe groaned. The mares were skittish enough as it was.

"A fine night, boy, isn't it?" Beppe jumped, and turned to find Marcello leaning on the stable fence. He nodded in hurried agreement, though Beppe shivered and the night sky was dark with clouds.

Marcello worked the pilgrims. For a price, he and his men would protect them from bandits and highwaymen. Few folk anticipated a need for protection in the peaceful Italian countryside. Marcello and his men took great pains to convince them otherwise.

"Yes, a fine night indeed," he repeated. The first flash of lightning tinted the distant sky and Beppe shivered. "Fabian!"

"You need me to stand watch tonight, signore?" A few of the village fathers had already been recruited to guard the creature.

"If you could; my men keep getting too close. The _bestia_ smashed Gino's face in and now, the damned fool can't breathe straight."

"That's the fifth man since you brought him here," Fabian said uneasily.

"My men are brainless but you, my friend, are a quick-witted sort." Marcello clasped his shoulder, his voice oiled with camaraderie.

"I know enough not to shove my head in a demon's mouth I suppose." Fabian rolled up his sleeves and followed Marcello into the barn. From within, a thunderous roar followed a prelude of cracking bullwhips.

Beppe remembered a stallion he once saw. The horse was magnificent, held his black head high and proud. For three years, it roamed the countryside, going where he pleased, eating what he would until a Marcello and his men captured him. Marcello declared that the beast would be his own and set about trying to break it. The stallion would not comply. It had tasted the wild and would not go back, so Marcello beat it to death.

… … …

Frankenstein's back was scored with whiplashes, his face cut and his eyes swollen closed. A web of chains bound him to the floor and restricted his breathing. He had two bullets in his chest and a high fever. He couldn't remember the last time he had been fed or tasted clean water. And for the first time in his life, he felt truly murderous.

Two men entered the barn. The first, he recognized by voice: Marcello. Frankenstein glowered.

"It's only a matter of time before I escape, and when I do…" his voice was hoarse from yelling and his bruised face made it difficult to speak.

"You'll tear me limb from limb, burn the village, and kill us all to a man," Marcello recited. "It's old, _bestia_." There was an iron poker hanging out of a potbellied stove. Marcello slid it out, and held the glowing point in front Frankenstein's face. He did not flinch.

"Take a look at me," the he laughed bitterly, and the laugh faded into a weak cough. "Do you think a few more burns will make a difference, a few more scars on my tattered hide?"

"Let's find out, shall we?" Marcello slid the red hot tip through the chains pressed it against Frankenstein's neck. Frankenstein gritted his teeth. He would not make a sound, he told himself, and he would show no signs of pain. But the hot iron bit into him. He gasped and groaned and the acrid smell of burning flesh filled his nose. White light blinded him and he roared. He tried to pull away, but the iron was wedged between the chains and he only jammed it harder against his skin.

Then, in one fluid motion, Marcello drew the poker back and struck Frankenstein's face. He jerked back, the chains digging into his side, tearing into his wounds and choking his throat.

Marcello struck him in the side, and then across the chest. The blow landed on the bullet wounds and Frankenstein collapsed. The pain was inhuman.

"Most would say immortality's a gift. You survived those," his boot collided with Frankenstein's side. "I suppose a demon can't be harmed by mere bullets, though chains seem to hold you well enough. I'll tell you right now, _bestia_, you're going to wish those shots killed you. You're going to regret the day hell spawned you."

"Only the day it spat you out—" The iron slammed between his shoulder blades. Frankenstein knew that his retorts would only increase the pain and enrage his captors, but pride overruled good sense. He braced itself for the next blow, but it did not come.

"One of my men found something, _bestia_, found it on the ground where we caught you. Does it look familiar?"

Frankenstein could not see through his swollen eyes, but heard the faint clinking of a jewelry chain. Even blinded, he knew that it was a cameo necklace, the image of a woman in white porcelain on a pale red background, held on a golden chain. Rage gripped him, and nausea from the pain.

"G-get your f-filthy h-hands off of it." Frankenstein's rage turned inward. He hated himself for his own weakness and because he could not wrap his hands around Marcello's neck and strangle him.

"No, I think I'll keep it. I know a wench in San Calisto that would roll me good for it."

"You're not fit to touch it," he spat.

"And you are? Did you steal this from some woman, _bestia_? Did you tempt her to your bed and then kill her after, and keep this as a trophy?"

"Shut up!"

"Was she good, _bestia_? Did you enjoy her? Did she scream? Did she scream when she saw your ugly face?"

"Do not speak of her!" The world was spinning and Frankenstein was not sure if he faced up or down. Marcello was laughing. He heard the bullwhip sliding across the dirt floor, heard the crack of it before it struck him.

A shadowed figure moved into position on the rafters above. He studied the men below—there were seven. The three closest to the captive carried themselves like professional brutes, drawn to their full, intimidating height. The two men at the door, on the other hand, were uneasy. No doubt they were just villagers, caught up in the frenzy of hate and anger. The final man, the one taunting the creature, was obviously the leader.

Carefully, the figure chose his shot. The beam vibrated as he shifted his weight, and he waited. His hand would have to be steady. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead, down his neck, and onto his hand. He ignored it, and pulled the trigger.

Marcello dropped to his knees and slumped forward. Before he touched the ground, Van Helsing put a dart in each of the two men standing behind him. The third brute fired three bewildered shots into the air before he was felled by a tranquilizer.

Two of the remaining three dropped their weapons and fled. Only Fabian remained. The old stable master clutched his gun his chest.

"Who's there?" he shouted, "Show yourself!"

There was a thump behind him and he turned. Lightning flashed and illuminated a pair of green eyes: the last thing he saw before the dart pierced his skin and sleep overtook him.

Van Helsing shoved the dart gun back into his jacket. There was a set of keys hanging on the wall and he grabbed them.

"You're in bad shape, my friend," he grunted, lifting the mass of chains and shoving them aside.

"Van Helsing?" he rasped.

The monster hunter forced a smile. The last shackle fell away. "Can you stand?"

Frankenstein nodded and lifted himself a few inches on shaky arms before collapsing.

"Easy," Van Helsing coaxed, "Just take it easy."

But Frankenstein tried again, forcing himself to his knees before stumbling forward.

"He took it," he said, still struggling to get to his feet. "The bastard has it. The filthy …"

"Easy, you're going to hurt yourself."

"No, I have to…" he groaned and fell hard.

"I'll get it, alright? Just stay still." The monster hunter scanned the ground. What ever Frankenstein had lost had better be in the barn. They didn't have much time.

"What am I looking for?"

"A necklace, red on a gold chain. Marcello has it."

Lightning sparkled off of something in the hand of the man he had pinned as the leader. Van Helsing kicked him over and pried the necklace out of his fingers.

"A gift from a lady friend?"

Frankenstein shook his head and reached up for it. Van Helsing handed it to him and he held it tight, drawing his fist to his chest.

Van Helsing whistled and the Transylvanian stallion trotted into the barn. He stepped over the bodies daintily, hardly batting an eye. In the distance, Van Helsing heard voices.

"Come on, we have to get you up."

Frankenstein nodded and tried to stand once more. Van Helsing put his shoulder under the giant's arm and hoisted him to his shaking feet. Frankenstein leaned on the horse for a moment then let Van Helsing shove him up. Leaning forward, he rested his head on the horse's neck, breathing heavily. Van Helsing mounted up behind him and urged the horse to a slow walk, heading towards the door at the back of the barn.

The voices grew louder outside, and the front door swung open. A mob of people stormed in as Van Helsing urged the horse to a gallop.

One man raced past the crowd and drawing his gun, fired at them. They were out of range. Van Helsing could hear a stream of Scottish curses as they rode out of sight.

A/N: rewritten a fourth time, now with 20% less gore.


	10. Chapter 10

Stella awoke to the sound of a fist pounding against the door of her house. In her line of work, nighttime callers were commonplace; but tonight, Stella felt the grip of fear. Despite her bravado, she did not doubt Canmore's threats. A man who had murdered so many in cold blood would have no objection to disposing of one pushy "spinster".

The word hurt her, though with the stakes being what they were, she knew should be above a wounded pride. Bella's life was on the line, as well as her own.

Stella learned years ago that she would probably never marry. Her family's vineyard suffered a succession of bad years and though they never went without, marriages were expensive. Stella was the fourth of five daughters and by the time her elder three sisters had been married off, there was little in the larder for her own dowry.

Stella accepted the news stoically. Her interests lay more in books than in men, so it was not such a terrible blow to learn that it would be the convent for her. The convent had a library, and work for a young woman who could speak fluent Latin, Greek, and French.

At the age of fifteen, Stella was welcomed into the convent as a novice. The nuns gave her a job translating old texts, and the opportunity to expand her knowledge of languages. By sixteen, she could fluently speak five and was working to master an additional three. Her knack for tongues did not go unnoticed, and the abbess, Mother Verna, saw to it that she received texts that were more archaic, more challenging. These texts, Stella noticed, were also more occult. There were tombs of Demonology, mysticism; and not just Catholic texts but Islamic, Buddhist, and Pagan lore. The abbess evaded her questions at first, but eventually revealed the existence of the Holy Order. At seventeen, they sent Stella to Rome to work in processing. Her parents were told that she worked as an aid to Mother Verna's brother, the Cardinal Jinnette.

… … …

The pounding on the door grew louder as she descended the stairs. If it were Canmore, she told her self, and his intentions were violent, he would not bother knocking.

She opened the door and gasped. A flash of lightning illuminated Van Helsing's silhouette, but he was not alone. A hideous creature leaned against him, covered in gashes, bleeding heavily.

"Stella—"

"San Maria," she gasped.

"He needs medical attention, and a place to rest." Van Helsing pushed past her. He half dragged the giant down the hall and with a grunt, and knocked away the candlestick, opening the passageway. The wall swung aside.

"What do you think you are doing?" Stella demanded. He ignored her and lay Frankenstein down on the cot. The frame groaned under his weight.

"Do you have any medical supplies, bandages, anything?"

"If you think for one moment that I'm going to take part in this without so much as an explanation…" she was cut short by the cocking of a gun. Van Helsing aimed his pistol at her.

"Please, Stella," he said apologetically, "He may not have much time."

"Gabriel—"

"Carl said you studied medicine at the convent. Can you help him?" Stella glared at him, betrayed. "Well?"

"I'll do what I can." Stella assumed a mask of cold efficiency, suspecting that Van Helsing would have no patience for panic. "You'll have to let me go upstairs first. I need supplies."

Van Helsing nodded and lowered his gun an inch. Sweat gathered at Stella's brow and she wondered how many men had been killed by that gun.

Van Helsing followed her upstairs into the kitchen, keeping a cautious eye on her as she searched for supplies.

"Stella,"

She turned slowly, afraid to make any sudden moves.

"Thank you. For his sake, thank you."

Stella glared at him, her gaze both searching and accusatory.

"And for your sake, Gabriel? I thought you trusted me."

"Old habits die hard, I suppose." He holstered the gun. Stella snorted in disbelief, and shoved a box of gauze into his arms. She grabbed a box from the top shelf and slammed it down on the counter. She removed an envelope of needles and held each one to the light, inspecting it.

"Could you hurry this along?"

"Certainly, if you want me to sew the monster up with a dull needle."

"He's not a monster, Stella…and for God sake, he may be bleeding to death while to fiddle with your sewing kit." He seized the envelope and threw it in the box of gauze. Stella flinched and started backwards. Van Helsing regretted his impatience. "Look, I'll help you. What else do you need?"

"There's brandy in the cupboard. I can use it to clean the wounds."

He rifled through the top shelf and found the alcohol in the far back. He had to blow the dust off to read the label. When he turned back, he noted that Stella had a bowl of warm water in her arms and the box of supplies was considerably fuller.

They returned to the secret room and Stella poured some of the alcohol into the bowl, diluting it. Choosing a piece of cloth, she soaked it then wrung it out thoroughly. Her hand hovered indecisively over Frankenstein's bare back. The thought of touching something made from the bodies of the dead revolted her. But a warning glance from Van Helsing strengthened her resolve and she pressed the rag against the wounds.

Frankenstein winced and she jerked her hand back. Biting her lip, she brought the cloth to his raw flesh again, this time more gently.

"What happened to him?" she asked, pushing back her anger in favor of the task at hand.

"He was captured, about ten miles outside of the city."

"Was it the Order?"

"No, but they condoned it. Canmore was supposed to finish him off tonight."

Stella shuddered.

"Carl told me he's been harassing you. I'm sorry."

"Canmore is nothing I cannot handle." She shrugged him off.

"It makes sense that they would send Canmore do it," he realized, "The man has no compunctions against killing the innocent. Any trained agent would be able to sense that Frankenstein isn't evil. The Council of Faiths would need to be sure that this wouldn't stop their assassin from doing the job."

Stella stared at him, eyebrows raised, questioning his sanity.

"He saved my life in Transylvania. He's a good man, Stella."

"Roll him over," she ignored him, "I need to see the wounds on his front."

Frankenstein groaned pitifully, though Van Helsing moved him as carefully as possible. For a moment, Stella might have felt sympathy for the creature. But then she saw his face.

"Christ preserve us!" she gasped. His face was swollen with bruises, the flesh covered with scars and grotesque stitching. The skin of his torso was stretched across thick, inhuman muscles. Puckered scars marked the places where he had been cut open, or where parts of him had been sewn on. Metal staples bound him together in some places, and where his heart should have been, a glass orb was secured with rivets. Stella wondered for a moment if the creature had been in pain even before his capture. The metal braces in his right arm and leg seemed to be screwed into his very flesh. She could not imagine how such a malformed and misshapen thing could even live.

Hearing her voice, Frankenstein forced his swollen eyes open and saw Stella for the first time. Realizing that she had come under his gaze, she backed away, too frightened to hide her revolution.

Van Helsing grabbed her shoulder and she jumped, pulling away. He took her arm, gentler this time and she allowed him, staring at Frankenstein, transfixed.

The creature opened his mouth as if to speak, but choked over his words. He looked searchingly at Van Helsing and then at Stella.

"There is work to be done," the monster hunter said evenly. He eased her back towards the bed.

Van Helsing reminded her that time was of the essence and she resumed her work. He supported the creature as she wrapped bandages around his chest, arms, and legs. Not an inch of his hide seemed unscathed, and she feared she might run out of thread before the gashes could all be closed.

All that was left were the bullet wounds.

"I'll have to remove the led," she told Van Helsing, "But I don't have the tools."

The monster hunter removed a thin blade and a pair of pliers from within his coat and handed it to her. "These will have to do."

"I have only seen this done," Stella warned, but Van Helsing was already sterilizing the makeshift surgical equipment. At this point, he doubted that anything could do Frankenstein more harm.

Stella probed the wound with the pliers and the Frankenstein roared with pain. He tried to move but Van Helsing forced him back down. "Stella has to remove those bullets. It's going to hurt."

"Lets you know you're alive." Frankenstein said weakly.

"Y—you'll have to hold him steady," she told Van Helsing. It would keep the creature from moving during the procedure—and keep them both from turning on her.

Van Helsing positioned himself at the creature's shoulders and held tight.

"I'll have to widen the hole a bit." She took the scalpel in her hand. "I couldn't reach the bullet before."

"Do it," Frankenstein whispered, "Do it quickly."

Carefully, she sliced into the wound, bracing herself for another inhuman roar; but the creature did not make a sound. She cut across the first incision and then, using the scalpel to hold aside his flesh, she reached in with the pliers. The needle nose closed around the bullet, and she drew it out. The other bullet was not as deep and she removed it quickly.

"I'm going to stitch it up now."

"The worst is over," Van Helsing patted the giant's good shoulder. Frankenstein sighed audibly, breathing for the first time since Stella cut into him.

She drew thread through the eye of a needle and rubbed both down with a cloth soaked in alcohol. Frankenstein winced as she slid it into the raw flesh around the wound. She pinched the skin together at the incisions and pushed the needle through the other side.

"Merciful God!" Frankenstein gasped. His back arched and Stella pulled away. "How many more?" he asked between ragged breaths.

"Five on the first, fewer on the second," Stella responded automatically, then bit her lip. She could not afford distraction. Allowing the creature a moment to recover, she resumed. She had sewn up wounds before; this was no different. In less than a minute, she was done. She staunched the fresh blood that flowed from the incisions and covered it with gauze.

"He'll need a place to stay," Van Helsing said, when the two had left Frankenstein to rest, "At least until he regains his strength."

"He cannot stay here!" she protested.

"Where else can he go? It would mean his death—"

"Don't you dare put his blood on my hands!"

"I saw the men who did this to him. They were not monsters or murderers. A few were hired brutes but the rest were common working men. They were farmers and tradesmen, armed with pitchforks and glass bottles, whatever they could find.

"Unprovoked, they hunted him down, chained him to the floor and tortured him, humiliated him. It might be merciful if the Order finds him before that village has another chance. At least they would give him a quick death. The rest of humanity would not extend him that kindness."

Stella carried the empty bandage rolls to the waste basket and discarded them.

"He's a good man, Stella. He doesn't deserve this."

"Why does it mean so much to you, Gabriel? Why would you risk so much for him?"

"Because he and I aren't so different."

Stella turned to look at the hunter at last. His face was drawn, perhaps because of the late hour, perhaps because of something else.

"Until he regains his strength," she said at last, "and no longer."

"It's all I ask."

"You ask a lot. And what will you do with Bella while he is here?"

"I was hoping that she could still stay with you while I'am gone. I know I'm asking a lot but…"

"You believe she will be safe with that…with him here?"

"I trust him with my life; I would trust him with hers. He's a good man, Stella, you'll see."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: several previous chapters have once again been edited. Please be aware that re-writes are still ongoing and though I have not made any changes that alter the plot, improvements in quality are constantly being made.

Canmore shoved through the ancient doors of the council chamber, and was greeted with outcry from the Council of Faiths and the many scribes and attendants that filled the oval chamber. Its high domed ceiling, imposing arched columns and impressive, several-tiered dais upon which sat the council themselves, were made of antiquated gray marble. On that dais sat equally antiquated men in the garb of clergy, the red of cardinals, the orange of Buddhist monks, the black robes of mullahs and other heads of faith. This was the Order's seat of power, where its leaders presided. A heavily armored guard stepped in front of Canmore, but the Scotsman pushed him back like so much dead weight.

"Just a moment of your time, Yuir Reverences," he said.

"What is the meaning of this, Canmore!" demanded Kareem Imam. The head of the order sat in a high backed chair in the center of the dais.

"I trust you have an explanation," said a monk who sat on a lower level.

"I do, and I'll be brief, so as not to waste Yuir Reverences' precious time. I require a report from your main library."

"Then you should speak to processing," dismissed Kareem, "Miss Delliceneri…"

"…Has denied me access. Now if one of you holy sirs could remind her that this Order has depended on my family for centuries, and what they owe us for the Canmore blood shed in the fight against evil, I'm sure she would be happy to hand the damned thing over."

Another robed figure stood, and Canmore saw that it was the Cardinal Jinnette. "I am sure that Miss Delliceneri has a very good reason for withholding those files."

"Good," Canmore said, "Then I'll just go back to my home in Scotland and wait for you all to sort out the lass's reasoning."

"We can't afford to lose another hunter," a Buddhist monk whispered to Kareem. The Imam knew that he was right. Too many hunters had been killed since the attack on the Vatican City. They could not afford to have Canmore walk out on them. Canmore knew it too.

"We shall see what we can do. Meanwhile, the Council requests that you remain in the city and continue your search for the Frankenstein abomination. This failure is most unlike you," said Kareem, "Perhaps you have spent so much time shattering statues that you've lost your edge."

Canmore's scowl revealed gritted teeth and blood fled his hands, so tight were his fists clenched. "He won't get far, the creature was half dead when he escaped."

"And yet it managed to elude you," Kareem raised an eyebrow, the closest the Imam ever came to a smile.

"It had help,"

"Yes, this mysterious horseman—the ghost that took out seven men, all without being seen. This would disturb us more if we had proof beyond the world of skittish peasants. But as of this moment, we have seen none.

"No more excuses, Hunter. Find the abomination. Find the Frankenstein monster, and kill it."

… … …

The room was like a cell, Frankenstein thought. There was no sign of a door, no light shining from beneath a frame, and Frankenstein wondered for a moment if had been walled in. The thought should have brought on panic, but Frankenstein found that he no longer cared.

The cell was lit by a dim lantern that flickered without warmth on a nightstand to his right. Upon the wall hung an old quilt. The bed was plain, metal, nondescript, but it was a bed none the less. Frankenstein lay on his side and thought that it was as good a place as any to die.

No more running, no more pain; death had its dark appeal. He would see his father again, though that knowledge brought him shame. Frankenstein was a living testament to his father's work. Surrendering to death would mean the end of Victor Frankenstein's legacy, that he had failed his creator and the memory of his work. But he was so tired of fighting, sick of running from those who denied his very right to live. And he was tired of being alone.

_There will be no one to mourn me_,—he ran his fingers over the necklace in his hand— _least of all _her_. I'm leaving no one behind._

Stella studied him carefully as the passage door opened. His eyes were closed, his muscles tense; and he gritted his teeth painfully. His entire body was broken and torn, but to her amazement, not a sound escaped him. Stella's hands shook as she set a bowl of cool water on the nightstand. He needed to be tended, she told herself, and she would be damned if after last night's ordeal, he died of an infection or fever. It was a job, that was all, and she would not let cowardice keep her from it.

He would not meet her gaze, and that was fine. The memory of his haunted brown eyes was enough. Nightmares were common for even administrative members of the Order; but the memory of those eyes and his screams of pain had filled both her waking and sleeping until she had no choice but to face him. Now, though, he was mercifully silent. _Merciful for whom?_ Stella thought suddenly. She was not the one who had been tortured, not the one whose was suffering. Were he human, she knew Frankenstein would be dead. But he could not die from his wounds, could not find release. And so he endured it as he did the rest of his existence, steeling himself and bearing every wound, every moment of isolation; with gritted teeth and silence. And Stella was relieved that he was keeping quiet.

She was angry with herself. Had Van Helsing allowed her to hide behind her own cowardice, Frankenstein might have died of his wounds last night. She would have turned him out like a cur to the streets. No creature, however unholy should have to suffer this way,

"I'm going to check your fever," she said, resigned to do what she could for him. She reached out to touch his forehead but he flinched, as if expecting her to strike him. "I will not hurt you," He did not answer so she continued. His brow was hot, but coated with the icy sweat of fever, but it was no different than that of any other man. Had she expected slime; or that the very ungodliness of his creation would burn her flesh like acid?

Frankenstein, for his part, feared her touch as much as she his.

She needed to bring his temperature down. She dipped her handkerchief in the bowl of water she'd brought, and making a compress, placed it on his brow. Again, he flinched as her hand came close.

"Who are you?" he asked abruptly, breaking the heavy silence of the room and startling her.

"My name is Stella, I've been asked to take care of you. Is there anything you need?"

"Am I going to die?"

"I don't know," she said truthfully.

"Then would you stay with me?"

"What?"

He hesitated. "You asked if I," he faltered, "I do not want to die alone."

With new courage, Stella took his hand in hers, intertwining her slender fingers with his massive, gnarled ones, coarse and chapped from a life spent in the wilderness. He did not flinch this time, but the gesture caught him off guard. Her touch was warm, her hands soft. He shivered involuntarily; and the small movement sent searing pain thought his body.

He gasped and his bruised ribs contracted. Ragged breaths brought new pain and he reached for his chest, stretching muscles that the bullets had torn.

"Lie still," Stella urged him. Instinctively, her hand went to his shoulder and she made soothing sounds. Frankenstein fought to master the pain. He gritted his teeth and clenched his eyes shut.

"Thank you," Frankenstein managed, wincing.

"Don't speak if it hurts," she said, and placed her hand in his once more and he held it like a drowning man. "You're safe here. This passage is well hidden, and the walls are thick. No one can here anything from the outside; the bookshelves insulate things.

"You're beneath my library—the Order's library. No one knows you're here, except Van Helsing and Carl. I'm the librarian here."

"You know much of medicine for a librarian."

"I was training to become a nun before I came to Rome. They taught us some medicine. I'm no physician, but I'll do what I can for you."

"Did they teach you the last rites to read to a dying man?"

"Are you dying?"

"No, wishful thinking perhaps," Stella realized that he was not joking, "I think I would like to have Carl read over me when I die," in his delirium, he seemed to take comfort in the thought. Stella did not have the heart to say that the Church would never allow it, that he would certainly be forbidden the last rights and a Christian burial. His body would be incinerated, destroying all evidence of his existence.

"When the time comes," she said instead, "I'm sure Carl will. But you are strong. I've read the reports about you…" it was an uncomfortable thing to admit, an invasion of privacy, "we have a file on you in our archives,'

"I survived Dracula," he reassured himself, as if the name summed up the entirety of the experience. Stella had read enough about the Vampire lord to understand.

"I will stay with you," she said . There was a blanket at the foot of the bed and she drew it up around him and though his eyes never left her hands, he did not flinch. She wondered why he was so suspicious of her touch, but remembering the terrible wounds she treated last night, realized that he had every reason to fear human hands.

The room seemed suddenly far too dark, and Stella increased the flame of the lantern. The new light illuminated the toys scattered across the floor. Stella bent down and picked up a rag doll.

"This is a child's room," Frankenstein realized, he studied the doll in Stella's hand. "Your daughter's?"

"No, I'm unmarried. I look after her for Van Helsing."

"I never knew he had a child,"

Stella told him of Bella's clan and how Van Helsing had rescued her after its destruction.

"I look after her when he's on assignment. This is where we hide her during the day."

"Where is she now?"

"With Van Helsing. But I expect you'll meet her soon enough." Stella picked up a second doll, this one made in the likeness of a Gargoyle, including wings and tail. She set the two dollies on the nightstand. Frankenstein reached for them, but jagged knives of pain twisted in his chest.

"I can give you something for the pain," she offered. "And some food if you can stomach it."

"I don't want to be a burden," he said, a man clinging to some scrap of dignity. "I have nothing with which to repay you," He could not bring himself to trade the necklace. "There's no need. It's part of my calling as a member of the Order,"

Frankenstein chuckled darkly, a mournful laugh that turned into a fit of coughing. Stella tried to sooth him and it took several moments before he could speak again. "Your superiors would not think so. I sought help from them once, and they ordered my death."

She knew he was right. "Let me get you something for the pain," and she left for the kitchen. She returned with a steaming cup of something foul-smelling. He reached out to take it, but his hand shook. Stella helped him drink it and he choked on the first sip.

"It tastes like poison!"

"All good medicine does," she said, then realized that he was genuinely suspicious of the cup's contents. "It's just an infusion of herbs, and brandy. It'll ease the pain and help you sleep." He allowed her to help him finish the rest of the cup, then she poured him a glass of water. It was clean and cold, for him a luxury.

Slowly, Frankenstein relaxed. He closed his eyes, and his breathing became deep and regular.

Stella was shaken by the casual way he spoke of death. Its constant presence was a fact of his existence. Asking for the last rights was not uncommon for a man in such pain, she told herself. But for a creature forged of death under the direction of the Son of the Devil to ask for the same…Stella found it harder and harder to believe that such a man was evil. Perhaps she was coming to understand why Van Helsing fought so strongly to protect him. _Because he and I aren't so different_, she recalled the monster hunter's words. Stella felt that she was beginning to understand what he meant.


End file.
